


Home Is Not A Place

by OnTheRoadSoFar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel/Dean Winchester - Freeform, Castiel/Dean Winchester Angst, Castiel/Dean Winchester Drabble(s), Cute Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Castiel - Freeform, Destiel Daily Drabble, Destiel Week, Drabble, Gen, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 02:12:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8268832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnTheRoadSoFar/pseuds/OnTheRoadSoFar
Summary: Coda drabble to 11x18, "Hell's Angel". Dean can't sleep. He is haunted by all the things he never told Cas, worrying that now he might never get to, and slowly realizing that the bunker has finally become a real home to him, because of its additional inhabitant.





	

"Well, let's go find that idiot and bring him home."

Some hours after uttering these simple, determined words, Dean was lying on his back staring at the concrete ceiling of his room. On the other side of the door, the hum of distant machinery filled the web of lonely hallways spreading like veins through the vastness of the bunker. On this side of it, everything was quiet. Even Dean's own breathing, light from hours of no sleep whatsoever, was undetectable in the dark, enclosed room, empty but for a few necessities, as well as a few treasured items, carefully placed or hung on furniture and walls. 

It felt like home, this room, this place - it had for a while, Dean pondered, slowly turning his head to let his eyes wander across the shadowy shapes of those few belongings. It was secret, underground, unusual, but it was theirs. It was Dean's faded photographs on the nightstand. It was Sam's big, weird-looking veggies in the fridge, and Dean's white mug with the little piece broken off on the shelf. It was 'Caddyshack' in the DVD player and Baby in the garage. But more than that, the bunker told their story. It held their memories within its time-beaten brick and iron - the good and the bad; the important, life changing events as well as those everyday familiarities. Kevin had died on the floor of the library, the same library in which Sam had most of his breakfasts these days. Dean liked the idea of a home that was his and Sam's - in fact, he had always wanted just that. What he never used to image before was that it would be someone else's home, too - that someone else besides him and his brother would come to share in its significance. That it turned out to be an angel of the lord still made Dean shake his head in wonder and amusement from time to time. How far they'd all come. 

But did he know? This was the thought, amongst many other thoughts even more unpleasant, which kept Dean from falling asleep tonight, despite the calm regularity of the atmosphere around him. He had told Sam without a trace of hesitancy, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to him, which perhaps it was - he had told him that they would find Cas and bring him "home". Wherever Dean's home was, Cas' was, too - why, he was family. Cas belonged here, in the bunker, a few doors down, watching tv-shows all night, commenting on the architecturally interesting features of Dean's hair in the morning, and reading lore books while Sam and Dean were away on hunts. Their time as a family of three under the same roof had been so brief, and yet Dean could not image life in the bunker any other way. Not anymore. And did he know this, Cas? Dean had never told him. How could he know, then? How could Dean not have told Cas how essential he was? You'd think he'd have found the time, Cas having been around for, like, eight years or something. And now, Dean refused, with every cell in his body, to believe that he would never get the chance to tell him - that things would not go back to normal again, and soon. He needed to believe it. 

"Cas?" 

He had already said the name many time today in the church, and yet it never lost its importance. Every time it passed his quivering lips it was loaded with something more; each new time was a little more emphasized, a little more urgent - heck, more desperate - than the one before. And now he said it again, not knowing where Cas or Lucifer or Amara, any of them, were, or what was going to happen. He said it, quietly, clearly, into the safety of his pillow, the sound bouncing off the darkness of the room. 

"Cas, I don't know if you can hear me. I don't know what happened today, why we couldn't get you back. We tried. I tried, Cas, I really did. And maybe you know that, or maybe you don't, and maybe you don't even wanna come back, but-"

He paused, involuntarily. The tightness in his chest seemed to hold him down, pin him to the bed, to the darkness, the loneliness. It was the second time today his voice had broken. 

"You have to. Okay? You have to want to come back. I need you."

He repeated it - "I need you" - it was one of the few things he had always known how to say.

"Dammit, Cas."

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Cas couldn't hear him, and Dean needed to say all these things, and much more, to Cas' face. Not to the void. That's why he and Sam had to keep fighting. That's why he needed Cas to hold on. It was Dean's time to fix things.

He needed to bring Cas back home. This home. Their home. For good.


End file.
